


Day 22: Humiliation

by Aichi



Series: Kinktober 2020 [22]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Crossdressing, F/M, Gags, Humiliation, M/M, Maids, Multi, Service Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27542428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/pseuds/Aichi
Summary: Shiranui visits Morfessa for tea. Luard Is Also There.
Relationships: Luard/Stealth Dragon Shiranui, Morfessa/Luard
Series: Kinktober 2020 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951588
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	Day 22: Humiliation

**Author's Note:**

> UHHHH ADDITIONAL TAGS: Mentions of various other kinky things not tagged, including spanking, bondage, collars, buttplugs, blindfolding.. a few things. These guys get up to A Lot.
> 
> It's not really clear in the work so I'll just say Shiralua are in a longterm romantic relationship and Luarfessa are in a.. still serious but much more kink-driven semi-platonic........ Thing. lol. Luard lives primarily with Shiranui but he comes back to the castle a lot for research and so on.

Luard likes to think he’s fairly competent at walking in high heels. Even fighting while wearing them isn’t so bad, once you get used to it — and when you have wings and a tail to help keep you steady.

 _These_ , though, are like walking on needles. Or skyscrapers. One wrong move and he’ll end up face-first on the floor, and wrong moves are looking increasingly likely the longer he spends teetering on the flimsy stilettos he’s been cruelly, unjustly forced into — okay, maybe not _that_ forced, but he needs to hold onto what little pride he has left, because his balance isn’t the only thing that’s rapidly deteriorating.

“Personally,” Morfessa says, airily, “I recommend a nice harsh spanking as a go-to punishment. He responds well to it, it keeps him in his place, and you can save the _real_ pain for more fun things.” She takes a comically delicate sip of her tea, the cup clinking daintily against the saucer as she sets it back down.

Luard’s movements are stiff and cautious as he tilts the teapot to refill her cup, trying half-heartedly not to drool too much around the ballgag wedged uncomfortably between his teeth. She nods in satisfaction, and he resumes his previous posture, straight and attentive with his hands clasped dutifully in front of him, thighs tingling with the memory of Morfessa’s palm. The suspiciously well-tailored maid outfit and improbably short skirt with matching thigh-high stockings are just the icing on the ridiculous cake; this many bows and frills should be illegal, he thinks, and so should people talking about you as if you’re not _right there, I mean, hello, come on_.

“I don’t administer _punishments_ , as a rule,” Shiranui replies. The dragon is seated cross-legged on the floor next to the round, wrought-iron table on which Luard has — _totally unwillingly_ — served their tea, because Morfessa’s parlor isn’t exactly designed to accommodate such large and scaly guests. His tail is tucked around his legs, neat and polite, and he sips his tea from a far-too-tiny cup held gingerly between sharpened claws. “I don’t like to associate submission with anything negative. I find it… unpleasant, to say the least. We practice… positive reinforcement, I suppose you might call it.”

“To each their own, I suppose,” Morfessa says, moving swiftly and tactfully away from an awkward topic. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how well he responds to embarrassment and exposure in general, though?”

Shiranui inclines his head, and Luard’s breath hitches and tightens as the two of them glance at him, as if they’re looking for evidence to support their treasonous, perverted conversation. He tugs a little at the black-and-white laced hem of his skirt, which of course doesn’t budge at all. It feels like it only covers maybe an inch past his most questionable areas, and the gentle breeze from the window — which does absolutely _nothing_ to cool down his rapidly heating _everything_ — tickles playfully at his bare thighs and ensures he won’t soon forget how exposed he is.

One of them probably engineered _that_ , too.

It’s like they _know_ it’s getting more and more difficult for him to keep pretending that being debased like this doesn’t get him instantly, frustratingly hard, so they’re _deliberately_ making it steadily worse for him, introducing more and more ridiculous, humiliating bullshit to keep him — in this case, very literally — on his toes. The dress isn’t new, nor the tea, but in front of _both of them at once_ , while they _talk about him_ like he’s some kind of _plaything_ , it becomes something else altogether.

He _is_ hard, of course, and the tenting of his frills is pitifully obvious, but his two overlords, in their vast and infinite compassion, have declined to comment on it.

“Have you played around with any longer-term bondage?” Morfessa goes on, idly swirling her teacup. “One time he spilled one of his ridiculous acidic concoctions on my carpet — ate right through it, by the way — so after I had him clean it up, I left him bound and gagged in a storage closet for the rest of the day. Can’t cause any trouble like that, can you?”

She smiles at him, as if expecting an answer. Jaw stiff and aching around his gag, Luard shakes his head, and a strand of loose hair falls over his eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, he wills himself not to let it bother him, because moving his hands without reason is _definitely_ grounds for a spanking. _Anything_ is, really, if she decides it, but that’s the way the game works when he plays it with her; Shiranui may be more gentle-handed, but clearly they have plenty of common ground to drag him over regardless.

“Oh, we have a lot of similar incidents, actually.” Shiranui laughs, rattling the table with the force of his amusement. “He’s always messing around with your dragwizard magic. I have to tie him up quite securely sometimes so he can’t hurt himself.” He gestures, and Morfessa’s eyes slide back to Luard’s flushed face, to skin burning hot enough to match the bright red ball warping his lips into a cruel circle. “Mitts for his hands, an anti-magic collar — he designed it himself, you know — and full-body restraints besides that, of course. We have a fixture at our bedside so I can chain his collar there, make sure he won’t wriggle away.”

The sheer _affection_ and _care_ in his tone is enough to make Luard want to wriggle away _right now_ , let alone the actual content of his words, but he can’t, and this too is part of the game. There’s no hiding from either of them like this; all his gross, stupid little fetishes are laid out on the tea table and picked over like curiosities, and his submission is a _given_ , taken in stride like the irrevocable, inescapable facet of his nature that it is. It’s easier to stop thinking about running from what you want when running is no longer an option.

(He can back out at any time, really, and he has no doubt about either one of them respecting the decision — but he’s never even considered it, despite, well, _everything_.)

“Oh, the mitts sound like a nice touch,” says Morfessa. Setting her cup on the table, she folds her legs and leans back in her chair. “Did I tell you about my collection of plugs? I usually have him wearing one at all times, whenever he’s visiting the castle, but today—”

“—You’ve decided to be merciful?” Shiranui finishes, carefully placing down his own cup and gesturing at the pot. “More, please.”

Shifting awkwardly on his heels in an unsuccessful attempt to relieve some of the strain needling his ankles, Luard refills the cup in a smooth, practiced motion; it’s almost automatic, after how many times Morfessa drilled it into him. She expects nothing but the best, as always, and he carries the weight of a thousand spankings and canings in his hands as he _performs_ for them, shifts aside the muted pain in his jaw and thighs and toes and the heavy, twisted feeling of being _seen_ as someone who will happily do so.

 _There’s no shame in this,_ Shiranui has told him, time and time again, as he kneels before the dragon’s feet and offers his neck to an awaiting collar, _unless you want there to be. There’s no shame in enjoying shame, either. There’s power in reclamation, and if you want to reach for it, I’ll reach with you_.

“Merciful.” It’s Morfessa’s turn to laugh now, high and tinkling, like a fork tapping against a wine glass. Luard stiffens instinctively, because that’s usually the sound he hears before feeling the sharp bite of a cane or crop over his upper thighs. “That’s one way to say it. I decided to give him just a little break, since he’s not used to serving two masters — not at once, anyway.” She reaches out, and Luard flinches again, but she merely pats him lightly on the back of his thigh, mockingly affectionate. “Don’t worry, I’ll put it back later. I know you’re missing it.”

Luard declines to comment, even internally, on the potential veracity of that statement.

“I never let him come without something in his ass,” Shiranui says, conversationally. “He’s been very good about it, actually. He even made these enchanted toys that vibrate when you insert them.” 

And with _that_ totally unnecessary revelation, Luard’s pretty sure if his skin burns any more, he’s going to catch fire, and all his bows and lace are going to go up in unnatural, dragonic flames. _Then who’ll pour your tea, huh_ , he thinks, more bitterly than he feels. He gurgles weakly behind his gag, a damp trickle of drool escaping the corner of his mouth.

It’s devastatingly clear, on top of everything else, that the knot of pressure between his legs isn’t going to be addressed or even acknowledged any time soon. The frills of his skirt cover _just_ enough to prevent anything poking out, but he _saw_ the subtle little glance Shiranui just gave it, and he _knows_ it’s not about to go away on its own as long as they keep playing this game. Despite the frustration seeping through his veins, though, there’s a sort of bizarre, ludicrous _validation_ in it; it’s the other side of the coin to his insistent, perpetual denial, a reminder that he is, in fact, on the level that truly matters, _enjoying this_.

“Getting inventive, is he? Tell you what, after we’re done with tea, I’ll show you my collection. You can take a couple of his favorites home with you, if you’re interested.”

“His favorites? I _am_ interested.” A claw clinks against a saucer, and Luard reaches for the teapot automatically. “I’ll have him show you some of the stress positions we’ve been experimenting with, as well. I trust you to come up with some creative uses for them.”

They continue, back and forth, for some time, and Luard pours their tea and wears his outrageous little costume and drools around his entirely unnecessary gag and stumbles after them on his impossible heels and grows increasingly, blessedly mortified with every word they share until he’s convinced he’s going to collapse under the oppressive weight of _the things they’ve made him do_. That he’s _let them_ do. That he’d _craved_ , for so long, until they pulled the lockbox of his desires open and showed him _himself_ in his truest, rawest form.

“Have I _told_ you how _fascinating_ your company is, Shiranui? I really _must_ have you by more often.”

**Author's Note:**

> Finally I managed to get my two big ships in the same fic djfhjsghjshgdkjs
> 
> Twitter: @cosmowreath


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